...Gableplunk oriented himself to the city quickly. Although he understood his need to leave it, he always knew he'd return. The city, too, was home. Lights, the nightlife, millions of people he didn't know yet of whom he needed to know he was one, all were familiar and necessary. The valley, the countryside and its people were wonderful. He was fortunate to be able to go there when he wished, though he couldn't live there completely. The valley gave him a sense of personal safety; the city an impersonal identity. Here he was anonymous and part of a living entity. Which was stronger? Both beckoned. He knew, had he to give one up, which it would be. The country spoke to his spirit; the city called to his soul.
...And yet, the forest spoke as eloquently. The trees whispered silent secrets, the same secrets breathed in the city. Each spoke of life greater than the individual. As the tree is part of the forest, Gableplunk was part of the city. Here was life in summation, seething, containing all elements, all structures, all possibilities for wonder and disappointment, yearning and desire and glory. With the sheer intensity of population density, Gableplunk was able to live beyond his individuality, beyond that within him that experienced the misery and joy of existence and enter into a state of passion, a release from the experience of personality, a becoming one with the greater Self, the Self that's Man in all his feebleness and strength, in the pathos of confusion and great expectations gone awry, a moving forward, an ever-in-motion behemoth that creates its own existence even as it lives and dies a thousand times each day, seemingly pointing in no direction as it lies dormant, breathing, yet in a heavenly splitting, sensing direction and setting its awesome and impersonal mind in motion towards........the stars?
...This was the meaning of the city for Gableplunk: the fulcrum of all human activity, the point through which all human energy passed, the point that guided Man's destiny and the point of which Gableplunk was a part. Here in its myriads of manifestations as single beings could a man experience life greater than himself and yet retain his precious singularity for use in everyday affairs. Here Gableplunk could rise to the heights and plunge into the depths. Here he could be all he was meant to be- a man among Man and a more complicated everyday man who suffers visions of greatness in the scope of the realization of his limitations, a man who longs for beauty in the face of dullness, a shining light in the malleable haze of his common existence. Here Gableplunk could seek these visions, and in failing to realize them, he wouldn't fail, for he'd find them momentarily in the seeking.
...Gableplunk took his guitar from the pegs on the wall and slung the strap over his shoulder. He strummed it lightly, letting images and feelings flow through him. Thoughts became lyrics and a song took shape. He gazed out the window to the park below. The sun was shining. The brightness made him happy and he sang

"Everyday Wise Man"

...The park was beautiful at this time of the year. Trees turned colors; all their leaves hadn't fallen yet. Great buildings shielded inhabitants from direct contact with the wind. In the afternoons the sun warmed the park. Gableplunk walked through its paths or sat on a bench and watched children play. Often music was heard. People brought their instruments and gathered in groups to see what sounds they could bring together. When it didn't work, the group dispersed; when it did, a crowd gathered.
...Gableplunk walked to one of the crowds. In the center three men were playing. Two played guitar; the other, trumpet. Gableplunk watched and listened. Soon the horn man looked at his watch and stopped playing. He packed his horn and threaded his way through the crowd. Then one of the guitar players left. There were other groups of musicians scattered over the concrete and grass. Gableplunk couldn't hear their music, though he knew they were playing; people were dancing on the perimeters of the crowds.
...The man in the center continued playing. Gableplunk liked his sound. He listened to the musical structure and thought he could play within it. Gableplunk had relative pitch and couldn't always identify the key by ear. He watched the man's changes to determine the key and looked at his harmonicas to see whether he had one to fit. He did. He stepped out of the crowd and stood near the guitar player.
...The man was singing. Gableplunk raised his harmonica and pointed to it, asking the question with his eyes. The guitar player nodded. He finished his verse and played into a bridge. Gableplunk followed. The guitar player repeated the progression and lengthened it with extended chords and short melodies, giving Gableplunk the opportunity to solo. They played instrumentally for a time until the guitarist signaled a return to the vocal. Then Gableplunk played at the ends of lines or introduced new ones until the song was completed. People cheered. One man passed a hat at the rear of the crowd. The guitarist looked to Gableplunk and asked, "Is he with you?"
..."No; you?"
..."No."
...They laughed.
...He asked Gableplunk to name a key and they played again. The guitarist was talented and made playing easy for him. It wasn't always possible to coordinate styles as quickly. He seemed to understand the limitations of the ten hole harmonica and played no changes requiring notes out of its scale.
..."I'm tiring," he said. "I see you have a neck stand. Do you play the guitar?"
...Gableplunk nodded.
...They came to a close and the man offered his instrument.
..."I've been playing for hours. Play and I'll rest. Don't try to steal my guitar or I'll break your head."
...Gableplunk nodded amiably.
...The man smiled.
..."Do you sing?" someone asked.
...The crowd parted for an instant and Gableplunk glimpsed a flash of white.
..."Yes."
......What can I sing?
...The flash caught his eye again. A girl was dancing near a soundless band across the park. The sun shined through the trees, reflecting from her long dress. Gableplunk motioned to some of the people to part.
...He watched her dance in the distance. The girl's motions captivated him and he began to pick up her rhythm. Fingerpicking from simple chords, he followed for a moment, then pointed across the park. People's eyes followed his direction; others became caught in the spell- the dancing girl in the sunlight, turning slowly to the soundless band. Changing style, Gableplunk began to flatpick to her rhythm and sang

"Silkin' Lily"

...The girl stopped dancing at the end of the second verse and vanished. Gableplunk sang the last verse in anticipation of bedtime visions and a salute to the girl he'd never meet. The people around him cheered and whistled. A man offered a drink. The wine burned Gableplunk's throat. He grimaced and thanked him.
...The guitarist rose and said he had to leave. People began to move away. Some moved toward benches; others toward gatherings. The sun was still warm and everyone was good-natured.
...The guitarist's name was Jack. They walked across the park. "You play and sing," Jack said. "Do you write?" Gableplunk said yes and invited him to hear his songs.
...Jack was familiar to people passing by. They nodded or said hello. Soon they crossed the street to Gableplunk's apartment. They climbed to the second floor and Gableplunk unlatched the door.
...He offered wine or coffee. Jack asked for beer and sat on a chair. Gableplunk opened his guitar case and set his lead sheets on a music stand. He sang one song, then another. Jack moved closer and followed the score.
...Three hours passed quickly. Gableplunk's throat was sore, though wine and occasional breaks eased the sensation. He felt happy. The day was pleasant and playing always carried him to another dimension, one of lightness or intensity in accord with the song.
...Gableplunk finished as the sun went down. Jack read lyrics he liked and poems not yet set to music.
..."Your songs are unexpected. They require repeated listening to understand the depth of thought and feeling. Unique. Some of the melodies can be improved with greater range and variation. Others are perfectly suited to the expression. I like them."
...He leaned back and softly sang selected songs, then made melodic changes and offered opinions for improvement. Gableplunk listened and found his criticisms valuable. Jack explained changes to emphasize certain themes or for the sake of greater emotional impact. He knew music and had a direct feeling for the relationships within a song. More importantly, he could communicate his ideas in simple fashion. He illustrated them by playing his guitar and singing through isolated verses. Gableplunk understood and was able to offer fresh insights of his own.
...Jack had a band in town and Gableplunk was pleased with the advice and opinions of a professional. His changes suggested new directions. Collaboration offered greater possibilities. It could bring a greater fullness and diversity to a man's work, help avoid isolation and melodic stagnation, the error of personality working within its own confines.
...Jack asked permission to use a poem and songs he liked; Gableplunk agreed.
..."Don't try to steal them," Gableplunk said, "or I'll break your head."
...Jack laughed. "I have to leave. We're going on the road. I'll telephone when we return. We may use your material. If we do, I'm sure you'd like to hear it performed. By the time we're in town again we'll have it rehearsed. I'll let you know where we're booked. Come over. Sit in on a familiar number. Others do when we know them. A new style's refreshing."
...Jack packed and walked to the door. They said good-bye. Gableplunk expected never to see him again.

...Zia was back! Gableplunk had loved her years ago. Another man had come into her life and Gableplunk hadn't competed for her affections. He'd lost her. A year later he learned about their breakup. Zia had left town and now she was back! Gableplunk was elated! He telephoned. Zia was surprised. They talked and she invited him to her apartment.
...Zia greeted him. Gableplunk felt the constriction in his chest. It told him that his feelings hadn't changed.
...They talked about their lives since they last met and the times they'd gone out together. Zia spoke of her activities; Gableplunk spoke of his feelings and realizations. She asked questions and he tried to answer as accurately as he could. Zia had an instinct for seeing through people and the lack of tact for asking direct questions. Gableplunk loved that quality; it brought him closer to the truth.
...That instinct didn't seem to work within her. She was sensitive to the slightest reflection. Certain questions were bete noires, black beasts, and Zia would ask, "Why are you attacking me?" The same quality that made her brilliant and exciting also made her opaque. Mysteriousness could be fascinating, alarming in a sudden revelation. Opacity left only darkness, a frustration, a wall that Gableplunk couldn't break.
..."Why'd you leave me?" he asked.
..."Why'd you fail to pursue the relationship when we first met?"
..."I was weak. I loved you and had nothing to offer. I couldn't offer myself completely for fear of finding I was nothing: empty space, inadequate for the love I felt."
...Direct expressions embarrassed Zia. Gableplunk spoke of himself. When he involved her, she changed the subject. Gableplunk disliked asking people to conform to his own forms of expression. He liked to be free to let others be free, yet he yearned for a deeper communication, a sharing of souls. He made no demands. It was enough to be with her again.
..."Have you continued your guitar lessons?" he asked.
..."No. I never seemed to find time. The guitar's in the corner. Play if you like. I'm getting tired."
..."Oh."
..."Stay if you like. There are blankets and pillows in the closet. You can sleep on the sofa. I'm going to bed."
...He watched her as she left the room. The evening grew silent. The wind whirled between the apartment buildings. He opened a window and sat nearby, strumming chords softly on the guitar. The street lay far below. Presumptuous words came to mind and he sang

I could love you
In th' deepest way
In fact I may
Already be there
Perhaps you could love me, too
In fact you may
Already be there
I could sing you
A love song
'n' you could sing one
T' me
I may be a fool
But I know what I feel
'n' what I've always felt
I'd like t' make love
T' you
But I already have
'n' you don't know it
You've already made love
T' me
We've just been there

"I Could Love You"

...He saw Zia as often as he could. It was difficult. Activities absorbed her. She preferred parties or informal dinners with friends to more intimate communications. Gableplunk visited and was welcomed by other visitors. He often spoke warm words, yet conversations remained general. Like chasing rainbow shadows, he couldn't diminish the distance. Occasionally they went to a pub. Zia liked jazz and the clubs were crowded, the decors cool and dark. Gableplunk asked about her plans and received vague answers. Zia made temporary commitments and changed her mind: an interest in interior design one day, sociology the next. He took her to sections of the city he liked. Zia considered them off-beat, strange. Although frightened by the variance in personalities and surroundings, she was eager to experience the newness. She made friends easily and was welcomed by everyone, yet she remained elusive....Where was she? Why did she refuse to come out of herself? Gableplunk wanted her and told her. He knew she had deeper feelings. He could sense them or did he delude himself? Telling her how he felt...flowers and poems brought a glow to her face. Was it the glow of interest, an emerging willingness, or of flattery? Brief moments of possibility quickly vanished. Gableplunk kissed her on her 1ips. She turned her head. It was puzzling behavior.
...Could he be wrong? Was he with Zia at the wrong time? When would it change to right? Gableplunk was patient. He was also ardent. One evening among friends at Zia's apartment, he offered to sing a song. Good food and wine had lent their usual mellow feelings. Mellowness was no substitute for passion and Gableplunk sang

Beauty has the lonesome one
When he is filled with love
Lonely are the beautiful
When there are none to receive their love
Love builds as the swelling tide climbing higher
On the sea wall
'til it can no longer be contained
The pain is great and love can sicken
To despair
Great is the malaise of the fountain
Which can not gush forth
And deep is his despair
When there is no one to receive his surgings
Sad is the reaching out and not finding
And sad are the ones who will not allow themselves
To be found
Their hearts will beat in a lonely waiting
The tide rolls over the plain
Meeting no resistance
Expending itself in a bleak rolling
The wave diminishes to a pitiable groping
For even a hill, or a valley
The mountain becomes a fading dream
And love a dying disparity
Sad is the reaching out and not finding
And sad are the ones who will not allow themselves
To be found
Their hearts will beat in a lonely waiting

"Reaching Out And Not Finding"

...Although sunny, the days grew colder. Winter was near. Intensity was the word. Life rushed. Gableplunk waited endless hours for the times he'd see Zia. Today they'd be alone.
...He rented a car. They drove east, beyond the city limits to a forest preserve. Zia packed a picnic basket. The weather was perfect. Gableplunk brought his guitar.
...The caretaker checked them in at the gate and directed them to a parking area. Lunch was delightful. Afterwards, they walked through the woods. Gableplunk held Zia's hand and she didn't pull away. Great pine trees spread their needles in thick blankets. Delicate mosses grew on trees. They walked separately and together.
..."You seem very much at home in the forest," Zia said. She stumbled and quickly regained her balance.
..."Yes, it's a wonderful place. I feel at peace."
...They walked in silence. Clouds swept by, missing the sun. Trees whispered with the winds. The forest mat was soft and dark green. A raccoon near the stream. They crossed a path and Gableplunk's heart gave way. Zia walked ahead and there were no words...
...They returned to blankets and leaned against trees. Gableplunk played softly. The sun was warm and the breezes ceased. A bird flew overhead. Zia closed her eyes. She stretched and rolled away. Time and love and light merged. Slowly and lovingly Gableplunk sang

"She Sits In The Light"

...Autumn passed; snow fell; winter began.
......Do people choose unrequited love to prolong passion because it's intense and greater than everyday living? Is the choice selfish or are we helpless when stricken?
..."I feel you don't want me," Zia said.
..."I want you and I want what we could be together."
......Are people so restricted by their desires that they can't come together? There's something greater to which individuals must aspire. Love and desire on a personal level may run its course and diminish with time. Love and desire on a selfless level live forever, and individuals who live in its sphere bathe in its beneficence, come truly to know each other and be happy, carefree, even in the midst of tragedy. Personality is such a bothersome thing.
...The snow was lovely and clean when it fell at night. Silent. Gableplunk walked uptown. Store windows glittered with the holiday season. Ice skaters wove their patterns within skating rinks. Gableplunk's breath turned to fog.
......How wonderful are the motions of people.
...Shoppers were busy. Gableplunk looked at the gifts in store windows.
...Zia was cheerful. Surrounded by falling snow, they rode through the park in a carriage. Enclosed by wood and canvass, the carriage was heated by a burner. On the other side of the park Gableplunk hailed a taxi and they rode downtown.
... A dark unmarked restaurant. Light came from candles. Wax formed colorful stalactites hanging from wall supports. The food was simple and the wine excellent.
...They spoke in low tones and listened to music. Other people came in. More stayed than left and it became crowded.
...Zia and Gableplunk left the restaurant, following no particular direction. When they saw a pub they liked, they stopped to warm themselves. In one place a man waved to them to join him and his friends in singing songs at their table. They sang and shared the happy feelings.
...Another pub offered quiet conversation; another, live music. They danced and listened and watched other people, speaking between songs or above the music. Silvery decorations twirled in the air, catching the lights and beaming them in different directions.
...The hour grew late and Zia wanted to leave. They found a snowbound taxi and Gableplunk helped push it into the street. The driver asked the address and they began the slow journey uptown.
...Bright lights blinked in windows on empty white streets. They talked and Gableplunk invited Zia to the valley. They stopped to watch the great holiday tree in the central plaza. Ornaments bobbed in the wind. Rainbow lights sparkled from ice on frozen branches. They kissed. The snowy world seemed imminent.
...They reached Zia's apartment. She invited Gableplunk for chocolate. While he sat on the couch sipping from a mug, Zia prepared for bed.
...Lights flickered out. Zia said good night and walked into the bedroom. Gableplunk followed. Zia lay down and slipped the blankets up to her chin. Gableplunk sat on the edge of the bed. An amber light illumined the room. Zia's guitar stood near the night table. Gableplunk reached for it and placed it on his knee. He picked the nylon strings softly and sang

"My Love Will Be"

..."I love you Zia," Gableplunk said.
...Zia turned on the pillow. "I could never have a relationship with you."
..."Why?"
..."You treat me too romantically and idealistically."

...The man died. The heat of his life sucked him dry. Now he was ashes. Fiery in his youth, he was crippled in a war. He adjusted. A woman loved him and he loved her. They had children. Life was struggle. He couldn't work well and was never without the torment. His children were healthy and strong. They could be all he couldn't be and he was proud. He understood the division between men, between parent and child, as well as the continuity. Although less tangible, the continuity was stronger and he loved. The measure of his love was the heat of his mind. Ever in turmoil he alternately despaired and triumphed. The heat slowly sucked him dry. Years passed and his face changed. He talked less and one day he died. Gableplunk wouldn't have known but for a letter delivered to him that morning. The letter was from the man's eldest child. It contained a poem that the man had written decades ago. In a note written shortly before his death he requested that the poem be delivered to the songwriter in the building next door who'd helped him carry the trash cans from the apartment basement. The letter said, "... and my father wished you would put the poem to music. He said it'd be a lesson because the poem was incomplete."
...Gableplunk read the poem many times and thought of the man who'd written it. Slowly he came to understand the message. One icy day in his apartment he played and sang

"Breeze From The River"

...The man's poem, now song, lent incentive. It was wasteful feeling miserable in the wake of rejection. Gableplunk detested self-pity. He couldn't remain immobile. Keeping busy was a way to escape thoughts and feelings. He didn't want escape. Let his thoughts confuse him! Let his feelings hurt! Sensations increased, compounded and energized. In a whirl of mind and motion he sought new direction. Where would he travel now? He sensed work to be done, an urgency within. Mind was to be made up, not run rampant; emotions were to be felt, not denied. Structure was to be created; from chaos, order was to come; the world was yet to be found.
......I'm going higher and I'm going deeper. I've seen the heights and I've seen the depths of despair and the loneliness and aloneness. I've died and been born and been old and present at many initiations. I've found the center and I've fed the earth. I've found the Void and been empty and seen the universe obliterated in a single instant. And I've lived and made resolutions and had mystical visions and seen many of the Gods and many of the Demons. I've had primordial screams and revelations and felt my guts spilled and choked on my own wretchedness. And I'm going higher; and I'm going deeper; it will be done; I will have resolution!